


Lights Will Guide You Home

by Kailany_Aurora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2280441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailany_Aurora/pseuds/Kailany_Aurora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia almost can’t remember memories anymore, it’s as if all that’s attached to Allison is a scream and bloody lips.</p><p> <br/>Based on 4 x 11 because Lydia speaking about Allison is something I need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lights Will Guide You Home

There is a place, just above Beacon Hills where guardians spread their wings and grace the city in protection, where no screams can be heard. When she sits there, looking onto lights, which flicker just as quickly as life, where dirt clings to her ankles, and her mind is quiet and she can see the world as though she was a little girl. It’s her present, past, and future, all that encompasses her very mortal life. When she breathes in the air it smells of lavender and gunpowder, marred with blood, she breathes out and names catch on her lips tasting like cherries. She watches the city unfold before her in a place where no monster can taint it.

Where worlds shift around her and cities comes alive in the space between afternoon glory and dusk.

There is a place, just above Beacon Hills, where her screams can never be heard, where she fists her hands into the dirt and where she’s allowed to be terrified, and she can possibly understand why life lines break. Where she focuses on the lights for so long until they burned her eyes and she could see them even when she closed them tight.

She hears the crunching of undergrowth from behind her. Whirling around ready to throw a growl at whatever wolf would dare entrench her ground but instead she finds a man with the darkness of forest for eyes.

“Hey.” Parrish says, shifting slowly, it should have been an uncomfortable gesture, but he looked as he was coming into a space that was entirely his.

In the past she has always felt a bit unnerved being in the same space as Jordan Parrish. If any of the cardinal virtues had been constructed with people in mind then it was patience that was created for him. His voice is tranquil and he has a way of looking at you as if every word you spoke would tell the secrets of heavens doors. As if he could see all of your secrets that you were trying to tuck away.

Lydia is too tired to avoid those eyes, or perhaps she has given up in her pretenses. 

He clears his voice and speaks again.

“I’m sorry, I can go.” His voice, soothing barely breaks the air around them. She wants to scream.

“What do you want?” Her voice cracks from hours of un-use and she glares down as her own body betrays her.

“It’s a sight isn’t it?” He ignore her question, stepping closer to her and taking a seat in the space beside her. Below them the world keeps going, cars starting up and goodnight kisses being laid with the promise of tomorrow morning.

 She simply nods her head to his inquiry.

He sees the slow blink of his eyes, the bare movement of his body as he remains still, silent and patient. 

Turning to look at him, he smiles slowly. Jordan reaches long fingers forward. Before she can move away, they’re curled around her thin wrists and they pull her hands away from the dirt. His hands wrap so easily around her’s, completely and on reflect she pulls. But his grip is firm and she can’t remember the last time she felt so physically weak _._

“I think.” He says as he looks at their hands, “That maybe you should speak.”

She freezes. There’s knives where her thoat should be, and boiling flames where her veins are running. A sob curls in her throat and she swallows it. The act makes her want to throw up but she nods her head.

There is a place, just above Beacon Hills, where magic is created and it kisses the soles of feet of all that pass it. Where two strangers sat in a small patch of grass, a few feet away from a batch of blooming daisies, where two hearts understood one another.

_Lydia remembers when she saw her Alpha cry for the first time. She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget it. It’s the breaking of idealistic dreams of a boy who thought he could save everyone. It’s the tears of someone who isn’t a man, who isn’t an Alpha but just so ordinarily human. He can’t let go of Allison’s hand, and his tears drip down onto her white skin it makes Lydia feel as though knives are cutting into the core of her essence._

_Scott does not cry, he sobs. He's left in pieces and the same person he was hour before is lost to her. Lydia can hear the screaming inside of his head, it echoes along with her screams._

_She wants to do something. Particularly run away but she doesn’t remember how to and what good is muscle memory if it can’t protect her now. So she does what she can, she hides it all away._

_She drops to her knees beside Scott and cradles him. Pushes his head against her chest and drops kisses to the crown of short black hair, remembers watching this scene, when he gave this gesture of comfort to another._

_She feels her lungs expand but she bites down the scream, Scott is pieces of boy and she’s looking for shards of the man so she can put him back together, she can’t break alongside him._

She often stated that it had been a mess because no one would tell her anything. Shifting the blame to the others made it sound as though she had some semblance of control back then. Allison would frown and respond with quick apologies that Lydia would disregard with a toss of her hair. 

After all Lydia thought, she would have never chosen another friend over Allison. Allison was her favorite, her best even if she hadn’t noticed it when they first came to be. The beginning was filled with Lydia’s manipulation, the new girl was beautiful and it was better to make a comrade out of her then have her upstage her carefully constructed kingdom. 

The rest was keeping her craft together even if it was at the expense of Allison’s feelings. But instead, like everything about them, it didn’t go according to plan. Allison's heart won Lydia over and when she remained by her side despite the crumbling of her kingdom she realized that Allison had never cared for any of it. Allison had laughed at her jokes because she genuinely thought them funny; she remained alongside her because she enjoyed her company. Allison was her best friend and she was Allison’s and nothing had ever been as simple as that.

Lydia almost can’t remember memories anymore, it’s as if all that’s attached to Allison is a scream and bloody lips. But she remembers instincts, particularly Allison’s. She remembers Allison standing before her ready to kill Peter Hale if he so much as touched her. She remembers Allison firing her bow as she looked on, each shot aimed with the intention to protect. Nothing had prepared her for the love she would have for the huntress, nothing except perhaps Allison Argent herself. 

_She doesn’t know what possessed her to answer the call. But she answers and waits as she hears a soft breath. Her heartbeat runs rapid for a moment but the she synchronizes it to match the breathing over the phone. She can almost pretend she hears the hearbeat that always beat swiftly like mockingbirds but even that feels like a broken promise._

_For a few second, there is only synchronized breathing. Then a soft sigh._

_“Stiles told me I should call.”_

_She wants to laugh but just like running she’s forgotten how to do that to. It would be poetic she thinks that the only person that she thought could ever break her heart wasn't the one to do it._

_She looks up towards the sky and imagines his eyes gazing back at her. When she says nothing there is another sigh on the line._

_“Where’s the Lydia Martin I knew?” Jackson asks._

_“Buried six feet under the ground.” She replies._

_“Lydia.” He repeats and she can feel bone weariness in his voice._

_She wants to yell at him that he left her that he left all of them, so he can’t be breaking apart too. But there’s a frog in her throat and screams in her ear, and Allison’s soft smile flashing in her eyes. She can’t even breathe._

_“Do you – Jackson, do you still believe that God exists?"  She asks into the phone, says it like one of their long kept secrets._

_“Everyday.” He says with no hesitance in his voice._

_Her throat hiccups and she feels her limbs turn into ice._

_“Why?”_

_“Because, Allison took care of all of you, now someone has to protect her.”_

She tells Parrish that above all else Allison hated when people lied, she had seen how lies had almost destroyed her, how they had made her weak.

She tells him about the Code, the one guideline in her life that she strove everyday to live by.

“Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se proteger eux meme.”

How Allison was born to be a leader and how she arose to the occasion. All the while Jordan holds her hand in his. 

_“Ally.” She hears herself say as she walks into the room. Allison looks more like a warrior then ever as she examines arrows. Looks up at her and pulls a bright smile._

_“Are you scared?” She asks simply as she lays down on the bed and turns her head to look at Allison. Allison puts down the arrow and looks at her runs a hand though red strands._

_“I am. Everyday.”_

_“Then leave it to your father to help Scott.” She says petulantly and Lydia can’t remember the last time she threw a tantrum but that’s all she wants to do if it will keep Allison safe._

_“Our daughters are trained to be leaders.” She says simply._

_“I wasn’t much of a leader before, I made mistakes but I have to – I have to keep all of you safe, you’re all mine.”_

“She sounds like a hero.” Jordan says, his thumb still running circles around her wrist.

“She was, the type of person people write stories about.” He moves his fingers to her arms and though it doesn’t bruise something inside her does.

“Maybe you should write her story.” It’s a question but the way he speaks is anything but that.

Lydia stays quiet, doesn’t want to come off rude.

“I’m more of a mathematician.” She replies to that.

“Really?” He says and his voice is full of such understanding that she feels her shoulders shudder.  “Well, I still would like to hear more.”

_She felt it before it happened. She heard Allison's breath in her ears, and she tired swallowing thinking that if she could just not scream then Allison’s life lines would be kept in check. But the scream came and with it her tears. She had fallen to her knees, clutching an unconscious Stiles because he had been the closest thing to reality and she wasn’t sure if she had already lost her mind. She prayed she had._

_That she was still lost in her mind as Peter’s little puppet. And that Allison was safe and loved, and God please, that she was still breathing._

_Chris Argent buries his daughter on the brightest day of the year. It had been overcast for days in Beacon hills but today the sky is the bluest she’s ever seen. The sun lights her skin and it doesn’t hide as though it’s showing that it too has a memory to share about the girl with sunshine in her smile._

_Lydia doesn’t wear a black dress, or a skirt, or a blouse. She for once does not hide under sunglasses or makeup, she wants to feel everything as her heart leaves it’s chest to reside next to a girl whose skin is porcelain. She wears a bright blue dress, Allison’s favorite color and she holds onto Chris’ hand even when she feels her nails curving into his palm. She breathes because it’s all that she can manage._

_He steps away from her to speak to the crowd that gathers, all that loved her and Isaac takes his place. He looks down at her and his blue eyes match the sky, match her dress, and she wonder’s if that’s why Allison fell in love with him._

_“I know she’s not there,” He chokes out, Lydia squeezes her eyes tight. The very reality she was running away from deluding herself that it didn’t exist spilled out, undeniable like the casket being lowered to the ground. “But I don’t know where she is.”_

_She feels her body slowly starts to crumple. Until it’s too much to take and she doubles over, holding her stomach, holding herself together._

_“The -n whe, where . . . is she?” She asks. The strain of her throat not letting her speak._

_“I don’t know Lydia.” He says as he hugs her to him, places his hand on the curve of her hip._

_“But I know one thing. In life, Allison was greater then all of this.” She finally lets the sob spill from her throat, the pressure of her lungs finally giving in. And she shudders against Isaac._  

She’s shaken from the memory she’s telling as hands cup her cheeks and she looks at impossibly green eyes.

“He was right you know.” Parrish tells her.

“The people we love are not buried in that box or their ashes lost in the Pacific Ocean. But she’s right here. Right now. In this very space and I know you feel it.”

 She nods and he places one soft kiss upon her tresses.

“I think that she would be proud of you.” He says as she allows him to bury her heart in his arms.

There is a place, just above Beacon Hills where Allison Argent watches the city and souls she died to protect. On a hill overlooking a city life empties out into the world and two hearts beat. One of them is barely beating but oh so familiar to her. A heart that she died to protect, that she would die countless times over to keep safe. She cares for it now, waits for it patiently to grow strong again with the help of divine hands. The other she has never heard before but can see how it reaches out to the heart she knew so well, how it tries to make that heart race in happiness, to free it from death and she knows she will care for it as well. 

On a hill, just above Beacon Hills Jordan Parrish saved Lydia Martin from herself.

 


End file.
